


life is more than a series of ones and zeroes.

by motherherbivore (Airheart)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Headcanon, One Shot Collection, Tekhartha Zenyatta-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-03-22 05:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13757256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airheart/pseuds/motherherbivore
Summary: A wandering monk and his golden orbs, on a mission to heal the world.http://zenyattaappreciationweek.tumblr.com/





	1. starting point—zenyatta & mondatta

**Author's Note:**

> tags will be added with each chapter :) the chapters won't be in the same order as the prompts, so some prompts will be posted early or late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt #1: Starting Point  
> Zenyatta & Mondatta  
> [ _"Portrait 19" by The Paper Kites_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JJ14H0EcuPo)

The sanctum was empty at this time of day, quiet and peaceful. Zenyatta moved through it aimlessly, looking at the tapestries on the walls and the interactive pads of scripture lying open in some of the alcoves. There was no real purpose to it, his last visit, but it felt right to come.

He picked up a scripture pad and turned it on. Omnicode came to life on its screen, shifting and sliding as it told the story of the Iris and its healing warmth. Zenyatta knew it well, but still he read it thoroughly, as though he would never be able to again. He didn’t know if he would.

When that story was done, Zenyatta put the pad down and picked up another, this one describing the innate kindness that every living thing held in its soul. He knew everything that they preached, he knew it like he knew the hydraulics in his own hands, and he would take that knowledge with him when he left the monastery, but there was still something good about reading the familiar scripture. Someday, it would be published for the global masses, but there was still some resistance in this post-crisis world.

That is why I must leave, Zenyatta reminded himself, and put the pad away.

Then he heard footsteps, the rustle of heavy silk robes, a voice.

“Studious to the very end, I see, little brother.”

It was Mondatta, coming carefully down the steps to the very inner sanctum, still wearing his gray travel shawl. Zenyatta came to meet him at the bottom of the stairs, and they embraced.

“I thought that you were due in Australia for a sermon tonight,” he said.

“I am. But I have some time,” said Mondatta. “I could not miss your departure. I know that I cannot convince you to stay—”

Zenyatta bowed his head, an apology already on his vocalizer. Mondatta touched his chin gently and drew his face up again, so that their optics met.

“—but I wanted to give a gift before you left.”

“You have done enough for me, brother,” Zenyatta said immediately. “There is no material possession that would ever come close to the knowledge and compassion that you have given me, or the invaluable teachings of the… Iris…”

He trailed off, his train of thought lost as the nine golden orbs around Mondatta’s neck dimmed and rose over both their heads. They hovered there for a moment, then slowly settled on Zenyatta. Mondatta took a step back, and the orbs began to spin, finding their place in Zenyatta’s aura and adjusting to this new flow of energy. At first, it felt wrong—his energy had been omnipresent, a far-reaching force that had no real boundary or form, but the orbs pulled it in and Zenyatta felt suddenly empty. The orbs glowed brightly, and a clear, rich note rang out, echoing through the sanctum.

Then they stilled. The light in them faded to a soft blue, and Zenyatta felt the warmth of the Iris again. It was stronger than before, its goodness and purity concentrated within the orbs now. A calmness settled over him.

“They suit you,” said Mondatta. Zenyatta raised a hand to touch one of the orbs. It pushed back, bouncing a little higher than the rest with a gentle chime.

“You have my thanks,” he said haltingly, “a hundred, a thousand times over, Mondatta. I—”

“Take the orbs and go,” Mondatta said, not unkindly. He reached out, laid a hand on Zenyatta’s shoulder. “You needn’t wax poetic for me. Do good for this world, and that will be all the thanks I need.”

He passed his other hand under several of the orbs, making them hop and ring.

“They are already learning your unique sound,” he said. “When we meet again, I would like to hear their song in its entirety.”

“Of course,” said Zenyatta, “of course.”

There was no more time—Mondatta was behind schedule and had to leave again, though not without another hug and a murmured _May the Iris embrace you._ They went their separate ways: Mondatta to his plane, Zenyatta to the stone steps that led down to the village at the base of the mountain and beyond.

His brothers and sisters waved to him as he left, calling out their well-wishes and love. Zenyatta’s core ached with something bittersweet. He would miss this place, and the good monks here. And they would miss him, but they all understood that his path was different from theirs.

He did not know where it would take him. He only knew that he had to begin on his way.


	2. nature/technology—zenyatta & brigitte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #2: Nature/Technology  
> Zenyatta & Brigitte  
>  _["Surrounded" by Delta Rae](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bc2qTDm7Nqw)_

Zenyatta held several of his parts in his hands, and he had no means to put them back in.

They had come out without warning, clattering to the sidewalk and startling a few people near him. He was fortunate that none of the pieces were immediately vital, but he felt their loss in the lower half of his chassis. It was enough to make him stop.

He reduced several operations and sat under a tree in a scenic little park, full of people bustling back and forth. Some stopped, asked what was wrong. None were able to help. A few offered money, but he would not accept it.

An hour went by, then two, then three. A warning appeared in Zenyatta's internal peripheral view. He ignored it, and meditated.

A belltower nearby chimed the afternoon hour, and a girl stopped and crouched in front of him.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He showed her the parts.

"I am having some trouble."

She looked at the pieces, picked one up and turned it over in her fingers. For a long moment, she was quiet. Then she took all the pieces, and put them in her pocket.

"I can fix that," she said.

Another warning popped up.

"Thank you," said Zenyatta.

She introduced herself as Brigitte as they went to her home, and she looked at her phone a dozen times along the way. A block away, she asked him to wait for a moment while she went ahead to "check something." Then she came back and they went together.

"I promise it's not anything creepy," she said, as she led him to the basement, "this is just where all the tools are."

She paused, then locked the door behind them.

Zenyatta looked at her. She stared back, glanced at the door, at him. She laughed.

"Oh, no! I'm not helping my case, am I?" she said. "This is just... I don't want to get into trouble with my father. He isn't home for another few hours, but..."

"I do not want to cause you trouble," said Zenyatta carefully.

"You aren't," Brigitte said. "I want to help."

She directed him to a workbench, and dragged a heavy toolbox over. The screech of metal on concrete rang in Zenyatta's audio processor.

"Are these your father's tools?" Zenyatta asked. Brigitte nodded.

"He's an engineer," she said, emptying the parts out of her pocket and laying them out on the workbench. "I'm not really supposed to use them when he isn't home, but I think that would be the least of my worries." She examined the pieces, then picked out a tool and offered Zenyatta an apologetic smile. "I don't mean to be so cryptic. It's just that my father is a little omnicphobic.

Zenyatta bowed his head. He understood. Much of the older generation harbored ill feelings toward omnics. The war was still fresh in their minds, the pain still raw. 

  
“We and I used to go for walks together, when I was younger,” Brigitte continued. “He would always cross the street when he saw an omnic on the same sidewalk as us. He never lets an omnic stand near me, or my sisters, or my mother—he always puts himself between us, and them.”

She looked at the tool in her hand, and shook her head, laughing a little.

“He’d be absolutely livid if he saw us,” she said. “The only one of five children to show any interesting in engineering and mechanics, and I’m helping an omnic.” She stared at Zenyatta for a moment, then returned to her work. “We’ll just keep it between us. It will be fine.”

Zenyatta did not reply. He did not think he was supposed to.

After a while of quiet work, Brigitte changed her tool and the subject, asking, “Did scrappers get you?”

“Scrappers?”

“Some people will rob an omnic for their parts,” Brigitte said. “You are missing so much, I thought that must have been what happened.”

“Fortunately, I have not been attacked on my travels,” Zenyatta said. “I have always lacked these parts. I was not built to last.”

"You're a rather late model, aren't you?" she asked.  _You didn't see the war, did you?_ was unspoken.

"I was one in the last batch out of a Chinese omnium. This past January marked my eleventh year."

Brigitte looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "Eleven? You're younger than me!"

Then a door closed somewhere in the house, and Brigitte froze. Zenyatta drew his orbs tight to him as Brigitte listened intently, then put a finger to her lips.

"Don't make a sound," she whispered. Then she left, turning off the light as she went, and Zenyatta sat quietly in the darkness.

He heard voices, but they were too muffled to understand. He waited for shouting, swearing, he waited for someone to burst into the workshop and attack him. The orbs provided him some defense, secondary to their healing and meditative properties. He hoped that it would not come to that.

All was peaceful. Brigitte returned after a few minutes, and gave Zenyatta a short nod. She did not lock the workshop door this time.

"It's just my godfather," she said, and picked up her tools again. "He promised not to tell."

She put Zenyatta's parts back quickly, and did a little more work besides that, saying that she could prevent another disaster or two. Zenyatta let her do as she pleased. It was not often that he found someone so willing or able to help. 

When she finished, she gave his chassis a quick shine with rag and polish. Then, rag still in hand, she looked uncertainly at the orbs.

"There is no need," Zenyatta said. "Thank you, Brigitte. You have shown me the utmost kindness today, and I truly appreciate it."

"I'm always happy to help someone in need," said Brigitte, and she smiled.

They went back upstairs, and Brigitte showed him to the door. A man, a giant of a man watched them from the other end of the hallway. Zenyatta recognized him at once—even with the war a decade and some in the past, Reinhardt Wilhelm was famous. They looked at each other, eye into optic. Neither one moved. Then Zenyatta inclined his head.

"Thank you," he said again, and continued on his way.


	3. belonging/rejection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #5: Belonging/rejection  
> Zenyatta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no relationship or song this time cuz i kind of... forgot... to write for day 3 ahead of time, which i've done for all the other days (or at least started the prompts)

Genji had never spoken at length about his time with Overwatch. Any mention of the organization was hardly more than in passing, and Zenyatta did not pry, even when the memories distracted Genji from meditation. The burden was his to share at his own discretion, or not. Zenyatta focused instead on the future for him, not to forget past hurt but to overcome it, to not be held back by things he couldn’t change. The greatest obstacle had always been his mutilated body and the cybernetics that replaced it—technology that had come from Overwatch. 

It rather surprised Zenyatta, then, to see Genji greet old agents so warmly when they finally went to Gibraltar. Zenyatta knew some of the agents by face, from posters and videos, but Genji knew them by name and more. He shook hands, squeezed shoulders, laughed as Lena Oxton hugged him with all her might. Zenyatta stayed on the outskirts of the group once the introductions were done, content to watch.

“It is good to see you among friends,” he said, when he and Genji were alone for a few moments, lagging behind the group on their way through the watchpoint. Genji started to put his mask back on, then looked at it and changed his mind. 

“They’re kind to treat me as one,” he said. “I never quite made friends here. I was… preoccupied. But I hope that will change now.”

“Then I look forward to seeing these relationships grow,” said Zenyatta, and Genji smiled.

The debriefing session was short and informal, and dinner was immediately after. With so few of them on the watchpoint, everyone was responsible for cooking their own food, and Lena asked Genji to eat with her. Zenyatta urged Genji to go.

“Do not worry about the evening meditation,” he said. “Reconnecting is more important.”

“Will you join us, then?” asked Genji. 

Zenyatta hesitated. Then: “I will.”

As he expected, though, he was out of place in the group. They introduced themselves again to him—Lena and Winston he recognized, then Fareeha, who was not an agent but had grown up close to them—and they tried at first to include Zenyatta in the conversation, but he had little to contribute and they quickly left him out. He did not mind. He was content to listen and watch. It was good to observe Genji in this new setting, and realize again how far he had come in the two years since they met.

It was the same the next night, and the next, and on the fourth night, Zenyatta declined to join them, opting instead to explore the watchpoint.

“Are you sure, master?” Genji asked, at the same time that Lena said, “I wouldn’t mind showing you around!”

“Thank you, but no,” Zenyatta told them both. “I am content to take my own time to familiarize myself with the property. If I have questions, I will ask. Please do not concern yourselves with me for the time being.”

There was little to see, anyway. Much of the watchpoint was still locked or otherwise blocked off. Empty shipping containers and piles of boxes half covered by tarps littered the place, and half of the light switches that Zenyatta tried did not work. One of the Orcas had been flown recently, but the station had clearly fallen into disrepair since Overwatch’s disbandment. Winston had only been able to do so much for it. 

It was peaceful, though, and Zenyatta appreciated that. He chose a spot on a cliff’s edge, overlooking the sea, and rested. The orbs slowly began to play their chiming song, though it was mostly lost in the roar of the waves below. 


	4. what if—zenyatta & tracer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #3: What If  
> Zenyatta & Tracer  
>  _["Trouble On My Mind" by The Staves](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rsu4zu4nWNw)_

When Zenyatta learned of the circumstances of Mondatta’s death, he did not think it had been a secret kept from him. He understood why anyone had been reluctant to tell him, and he bore no grudge towards them. It was an unpleasant story, difficult to tell and difficult to hear.

Lena began avoiding him once he knew, but he sought her out within a few days. The wound could not be allowed to fester. Genji helped, calling Lena to one of the watchpoint’s empty rooms, then leaving her alone with Zenyatta when she arrived. 

“That’s a dirty trick,” she said, as the door shut behind Genji. 

“I apologize for resorting to somewhat underhanded tactics,” Zenyatta said, “but you have been eschewing me.”

“I—”

“You do not need to make polite excuses. I understand.” He motioned for her to sit, then gently cast the orb of Harmony over her and came to rest beside her. “You must understand that I do not blame you for Mondatta’s death.”

Zenyatta waited then, while Lena struggled for words. He had his reasons for blindsiding her with the conversation—he was not interested in careful, placating words about the loss of his brother.  He was at peace with it. Lena, however, was not, and Zenyatta wanted her to be honest about her feelings. The Iris would help her.

It was minutes before she found her voice, after several false starts.

“I just keep thinking,” she said haltingly, “I should have done better. I should have warned them sooner. I should have been more alert, fought better, been smarter—” She drew a shuddering breath. “I should have stopped her.”  

“Evil will always find a way,” said Zenyatta. “It is opportunistic. At its worst it takes advantage of the goodness in others, and there is nothing that the good can do.”

Lena shook her head. “I—” 

“Do not blame yourself for the transgressions of others,” Zenyatta said gently. “Evil seeks to grow, and if we are not careful, if we let it paralyze us—it will win. You must fight back, with kindness and love in your heart.

“Kindness and love didn’t stop that bullet,” Lena whispered.

“No, it did not,” Zenyatta agreed. “But good is not always gentle. Protection does not mean peace.”

He rose then, and the orb of Harmony returned to its place around his neck, side by side with Discord. Lena wiped her face on her sleeve and looked up at him, eyes shining.

“You cannot change what happened that day,” Zenyatta said, “so do not dwell on it. Doubt will only debilitate you. You could not save one life then, but you can still save countless lives now. Work towards that.”

Lena nodded, slowly, then with determined enthusiasm. She stood, and put her hands on Zenyatta’s shoulders. “You’re right,” she said, then again, “you’re right. Thank you, Zenyatta. It’s an honor to have you on our team.”

“The privilege is mine,” Zenyatta said. Lena hugged him, then she was gone, and Zenyatta was alone. He sank low to the ground again, until he was almost sitting on the concrete. His head drooped. 

He was glad his words helped Lena. He was proud of the progress Genji had made under his guidance. He knew he was carrying out his self-appointed mission just as he had intended, and he had touched the lives of many, but still he found himself wondering if Mondatta could have done better. 

The orbs chimed a little louder then, as though to remind him of their presence. He passed a hand under several to make them bounce and sing. Mondatta gave these to me for a reason, he thought.

Zenyatta straightened up. He would not let himself doubt anymore. 


	5. Zenyatta & Reinhardt - Family/foes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #5: Family/foes  
> Zenyatta & Reinhardt
> 
> warning for major injury/amputation

The fight was quick, hardly more than a skirmish, but then there had been a flash and a boom and streaks of blue light—hardlight shields, both broken in seconds by debris and shrapnel. The sound and the impact triggered Zenyatta’s long unused preservation protocols, and he did not reboot until Fareeha was carrying him back to the Orca. There was blood on her armor and on her face.

“No one died,” she’d told him. Zenyatta heard the unspoken  _ but.  _

No one died, but the day was not without its losses. Reinhardt’s arm was beyond even Dr. Ziegler’s healing—the armor around the limb was so badly crushed that it could not be removed before amputation. Zenyatta heard later from McCree that Dr. Ziegler had considered performing the surgery on-site, and it took the combined strength of Orisa, Fareeha, and himself to move the concrete and change her mind. The lion’s face was unrecognizable. Zenyatta wished that he could forget the sight, and forget the flight back to Gibraltar. The Orca was not well equipped for any medical care, much less anything of this caliber, but Dr. Ziegler made do. 

Zenyatta meditated for hours once they returned to the watchpoint. He was not a soldier, no one asked him to come to debriefing. Dr. Ziegler did not request his help with Reinhardt’s surgery. Even Genji did not come to him. He understood. They were fiercely protective of their Crusader, and Zenyatta was still an  _ other  _ to most of them. He still did not quite belong.

Several days passed before Zenyatta thought it appropriate to visit the medical bay. 

“He’s asleep now,” Dr. Ziegler told him. “I suppose there’s no harm in you seeing him, though. I would only advise that you leave before Torbjörn comes.” She looked at her watch. “You have a little over an hour. I will be in my office if you need me.”

“Thank you,” said Zenyatta. “And, before you go—I have not had a chance to express my thanks and admiration for your work on our last mission. You are truly unmatched, Dr. Ziegler.”

She gave him a tired smile, clasped his hand, and left.

Reinhardt was the only patient in the bay. There were flowers on his bedside table, and a little stuffed lion toy set carefully in the crook of his remaining arm. Someone had taken great care to tuck the sheets in around him and lay the IV and drainage tubes out of the way. Zenyatta saw a card sitting with the flowers, too, filled with signatures and notes, but he resisted the temptation to read it. He cast the orb of Harmony, out of habit more than anything, and sank into his meditation pose near the foot of the bed. There was nothing else he could do, and nothing else he wanted to do. Reinhardt was well-loved already. Zenyatta only wanted to show his respect. He would not stay long. 

When he rose to leave, Reinhardt was looking at him. It surprised Zenyatta—he had had no idea that Reinhardt was awake, or for how long. They stared at each other for a silent moment. Then Zenyatta inclined his head.

“I did not mean to disturb you,” he said. “I was just preparing to leave, anyway.”

“Wait,” Reinhardt said. Zenyatta did. “I remember you. The lost kitten that Brigitte brought home.”

Zenyatta paused, then nodded. “I am still grateful to her for it. I know that it was not easy for her to go against what her parents taught her.”

“Ah, it was only Torbjörn who hated the omnics,” said Reinhardt. “Ingrid has always been more tolerant.” He eyed Zenyatta sharply then, and added, “He is a good man, and a good father, make no mistake. Omnic-hating or not, he raised those children well and right.”

“He did,” Zenyatta agreed. “Please do not think that I do not understand Torbjörn Lindholm’s prejudice against omnics. I only hope that we may rebuild the trust between our kinds.”

Reinhardt regarded him silently for a moment, then looked at the orb of Harmony, floating by his shoulder and casting its warmth over him. “Is that what this is for?”

“It is there for your comfort,” said Zenyatta. “The Iris’s energy eases pain and aids in healing.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “The Iris also promotes clarity of thought and helps one to focus. Rest assured that your thoughts are not being manipulated or otherwise influenced.” 

When Reinhardt did not reply, Zenyatta added, “I can remove it, if you prefer.”

“No,” said Reinhardt, “no. I… thank you.” 

“You made a great sacrifice. I am glad to help you in any way I can. This—” Zenyatta gestured to the orb— “This is what I know best. I spent the first decade of my existence studying the Iris extensively.”

“A monk,” Reinhardt said thoughtfully. “And what brought you to war, my enlightened friend?”

Zenyatta considered it for a moment, then said, “Genji. It is because of him that I’ve come to be involved with Overwatch.”

“That boy always brought trouble with him.”

“I do not regret it,” said Zenyatta. “Genji may have brought me here, but it was my choice to stay. You help people. Our goals align.”

Reinhardt gestured towards a nearby chair, dislodging the stuffed toy by his arm as he did. It tumbled off the bed and onto the floor.

“Damn,” he muttered to himself. Then, to Zenyatta, “Stay a moment, why don’t you? We’ve never had a real chance to talk.”

Zenyatta leaned over and picked the toy up, set it gently back on the bed. “May I be honest with you?”

“I would hope that you will always be honest with me.”

“I was under the impression that you disliked me. Though, I do understand that it is hard to shake old prejudice.”

“Old prejudice?” Reinhardt repeated. He seemed amused, although Zenyatta didn’t understand why. It was no laughing matter to him.

“Omnics killed so many humans during the war. You have every right to distrust me.”

“Humans killed the omnics right back,” said Reinhardt, “and yet here you are. I guess we all just have piss poor judgment, then, eh?”

It was a joke, Zenyatta realized. A teacher all these years, and he still had things to learn. 

“Perhaps we do,” he said, and Reinhardt laughed outright. The things I may learn from this sun of a man, Zenyatta thought. 

Behind him, someone cleared their throat. The old soldier Morrison stood there, holding a cup of coffee in each hand and a fresh bunch of flowers tucked under his arm.

“Didn't know you had company,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Nonsense,” Reinhardt boomed, “I always have time for you, Jack. Come and sit.”

“I was about to be on my way,” Zenyatta said. He recalled the orb of Harmony and turned to leave. “Thank you for talking with me, Reinhardt.”

“You’ll have to come back tomorrow,” said Reinhardt. “I didn’t even get a chance to regale you with any of my stories!”

Zenyatta nodded. “Of course. I look forward to it.”

On his way to the door, he heard Morrison ask, “How’re you feeling, old man?”

“As fine as I can, considering,” Reinhardt replied. “But I’ll be alright soon enough. I am in good hands. That little monk surprised me.”

“Shimada swears by his powers.”

“I believe it.”

Zenyatta let the bay doors close behind him, a smile in his core.


End file.
